Do You Remember?
by psychodramabeautyfish
Summary: Vancha and Gannen lived human lives 300 years ago - before they were blooded as Vampaneze. Gannen longs for adventure and glory, and what can Vancha do eventually but follow? They don't get blooded in the chapters I've written so far but please try it?
1. Coming Home

This is set around 300 years ago in Britain – because I know more about British history than anywhere else, and my knowledge of British history is pretty much none existent!

I tried really hard on this so if you've got a suggestion as to how I could make it better then I'll listen but if all you're going to say is: 'I hate it' you might as well keep it to yourself ok?

Chapter One 

"Mother? Please?" said Vancha, a touch edgily.

Lizzie Harst touched the window ledge, scanned the valley briefly, and then, seeing no one, came back to sit in her chair by the fire.

She stared into the flames for a time before resuming her sewing.

Vancha watched her, then set down the tools he was repairing and stood up to lay a hand on her shoulder.

"They'll be back soon, I promise. But it doesn't help to be staring out the window every time you hear a horse go past." He said, giving her a reassuring smile.

It sometimes made him angry what the constant worry had done to her, anguish was never far from her expression and he was sure she had dropped some weight.

Over the last year he'd grown used to his mother's fretful pacing; the way she nearly tripped over herself to get too the window when she heard the sound of horse's hooves on the road; the muffled sobs from the next room late at night when she thought no one could hear.

Lizzie covered his large hand with her own slender fingers.

"I know Vancha." She said, just above a whisper. "But you've no idea how the thought plagues me…"

Yes I do, thought Vancha.

Stories of the war were everywhere; you could barely walk into town without someone or other beckoning you over to tell you the latest piece of gossip. Most of the tales were fanciful, and no doubt had come from some obscure source, possibly the blacksmith's daughter's husband's aunt's second cousin or some such like.

There was no escaping them.

But occasionally some news would arrive of a battle, won or lost, or a traitor, or talk of the end of the war, or of the king.

But all year, no news of the two people Lizzie and Vancha most wanted to hear of.

"Mother please don't worry," chided Vancha as soothingly as he could. "Father knows what he's doing, they'll be fine."

Lizzie gulped, and then looked up at him, her face alight. "Was there any more news down in the village today?" she asked eagerly.

Vancha bit his tongue. Sometimes he thought she could read his mind, because that was the question he didn't want her to ask.

"Word from the North," he began tentatively, "It isn't looking good for the King."

Almost immediately after he'd said it, he wished he hadn't.

Lizzie's face fell and her hand went to her mouth. Tears clouded her grey eyes but she blinked them away.

"Mother-"

"He might as well have signed his own death warrant!" she cried, standing up and letting her sewing fall to the floor.

"Mother please, listen to me-"

"And taking Gannen with him! What manner of cruelty is this?!"

"Mother stop it!"

"At least you stayed!" Lizzie gasped, clutching at Vancha's arms. "You won't leave me will you Vancha? Not like your brother, foolish want of glory! Not for that! You can't!"

Vancha was startled. He hadn't expected this, an aggressive Lizzie wasn't something he knew how to deal with.

"Mother calm down." He soothed, holding her in a hug. "They will both come back, I promise you. Father knows what he's doing. Give it time. They'll come back to us soon."

Lizzie sighed, and it was a sigh full of worry and despair.

A year later

Vancha stuck his spade into the ground and straightened up, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck with his shirt cuff.

It was nearing the end of the summer, and he was sorry too see it go – the hot weather made every outdoor task a little less taxing, and the bright sunlight made everything seem more cheerful.

When summer had started, it had plagued him with nostalgia – it was his second summer without his younger brother. It held a certain amount of loneliness at first, although he was used to his own company by now, but still there were moments when he would remember happy afternoons they'd spent together.

Swimming in the river, diving down to pick up shiny pebbles and trying to catch fish with their hands; Racing down the hill to the village; Lazing around in the sun and telling his brother one story or another of ancient spirits, knights in armour, and a wicked queen who kidnapped children to steal their youth.

His most vivid memory was one of sitting under the oak trees, with the cool breeze on his face, telling Gannen that the rustling of the leaves in the breeze was the whispering of the spirits of the dead. Vancha could still see his wide eyed expression even now, years later.

That had been a long time ago, when Gannen had still believed the stories Vancha told him, and it all seemed so far away now…

He brushed his brown hair out of his eyes and looked down at the valley.

The village was visible from their house on the hill, nestled in a bend in the river, and the day was so clear that Vancha could count every street.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a small figure climbing the track up to the farm and his smile wavered.

Lizzie wasn't any better then she had been the year before, and since the weather had allowed she had been taking frequent trips to the village to try and pick up some news – nearly every day, and it was a good hour's walk there and back.

Vancha sighed.

He was amazed now by the fact he'd ever thought he would want to follow his father to war as well.

But no, someone had to stay, Lizzie couldn't have managed the farm alone – and Vancha recoiled from the thought of what all three of them leaving would have done to her.

There was no question that Nathaniel Harst would leave to fight, but - as many of Gannen's friends had pointed out to him over the last two years – it was strange for the youngest son to accompany him instead of the eldest.

Vancha would have gone with his father, but Gannen so wanted to go that it seemed cruel to deny him the adventures he dreamed of when he himself had been reluctant to leave anyway.

"Vancha?" A gentle hand was laid on his arm.

His mother's voice snapped him out of his trance.

"Hmm?" he replied, turning around to smile at her.

Lizzie just smiled quietly back, not saying a word. A few stands of hair were coming loose from underneath her hat and the weight of the basket over her arm was causing a red mark on her skin.

She turned to drift into the house like a ghost.

They did that several times a day now, it was almost an automatic reassurance between them.

Vancha turned backed to his task, but he had barely lifted one shovelful when he was once again interrupted.

"Vancha! Vancha! Mrs Lizzie! Vancha!"

He looked up to see a petite, red haired girl in a faded green dress, bright red in the face and panting from the long run up the hill.

"Rosa?" he questioned, not pausing in his work.

"You'll never guess what!" Rosa panted, her face flushed with delight now, although Vancha wasn't looking.

"What?"

"Vancha stop and listen too me!" cried the girl, rushing over and trying to tug the spade out of his hands.

Vancha straightened up and stared at her, slightly annoyed. "Go on then, since I can see you're dying to tell me whether I like it or not."

"It's your father Vancha, he's back!"

"What?!" Vancha yelled – if he'd been inside he would have hit the ceiling.

Rosa-May nodded furiously. "And Gannen too!" she shrieked happily, and he knew she'd wanted to shriek that piece of information first.

"How do you know that?" Gasped Vancha, his tone urgent. "Have you seen them?"

"Yes! I was half way up the hill and I looked back and I saw them coming across the river!"

"You're sure?"

"Yes!"

Vancha didn't know what to do. He was shell shocked.

"Sure?" he repeated.

"Yes! I'm sure! It's hard to miss red-coats on horses!"

As if on cue, Vancha's ears suddenly registered the sound of hooves coming up the dirt track.

He spun around but before he could say anything, two chestnut horses came into view, the first carrying a man of about forty with streaks of grey in his brown hair, the second a slender young man with long hair tied back and a long straight sword buckled at his hip.

Vancha was momentarily stunned, and said nothing as the two riders dismounted and turned too look at him and Rosa. The younger barely waited for his horse to come to a standstill before leaping off, stumbling a little after several days of hard riding.

"Vancha!" yelled Gannen, a broad grin slapped across his face.

"Gannen!" shrieked Rosa before Vancha could open his mouth, and running and jumping at him. He caught her and spun her around, laughing: "Hello Rose!"

"Nathaniel?"

The soft voice came from inside, and Lizzie appeared in the doorway. Her eyes widened as she saw the two men and her mouth fell open in a gasp of shock. "Nathaniel?! Gannen?! Oh my-"

She burst into tears, running out from the doorway and launching herself into her husband's arms, although with not quite the same amount of energy with which Rosa had launched herself at Gannen.

Nathaniel Harst smiled as she leant up to kiss him, and then let her go so she could go too Gannen.

Vancha laughed to see that Gannen was being swamped with more than he could deal with. Rosa was hanging off his arm, dragging his russet coat off his shoulder so that the collar nearly choked him and babbling excitedly; and Lizzie was trying to hug him and making exclamations about how much he'd grown since she last saw him.

So Vancha turned his attention to his father for the moment.

Later

"Vancha you've no idea how good it is too be home!" whispered Gannen furtively.

"And you've no idea how good it is too have you back!" said Vancha, "We've missed you and father so much! It was so strange when you left! It felt like loosing and arm or a leg!"

It was late. The long lasting summer sun had set over the horizon hours past, and the candle placed on the small table between them had burnt right down to a small stump.

"I know what you mean, I kept wanting to talk to you all the time, it was odd not having you there."

Gannen had changed a lot in the two years since Vancha had last seen him, he looked so different! His face had lost its puppy fat, his jaw was sharper and his high cheekbones were more prominent. His hair was longer, and he'd shot up like a beanstalk, now more lean than skinny. But there was a cast to his eyes that was slightly unsettling, they were harder, less open and innocent.

"Where did you go?"

"Everywhere! Vancha we went to the sea!"

"What?!" exclaimed Vancha.

"The sea! It's nothing like the river, it stretches as far as you can see like it has no end! And there were people at the port who were getting ready to sail to America! How exciting to get on a ship and sail out into a great stretch of openness like that!" He paused to daydream for a second before resuming his narrative. "And such crowds of people! All running around each other like chickens! I've never seen anywhere so busy! And-"

"And where did you get **this**?" Said Vancha, turning Gannen's sword over and over in his hands; admiring the intricate design on the scabbard and running his fingers over the gold filigree set into the hilt. It really was remarkable workmanship.

"Bristol." Murmured Gannen proudly, prising the weapon out of Vancha's hands and sliding it out of its scabbard to look at the sharp, shiny steel of the blade. "Finest materials available."

Vancha cocked his head to one side, grinning. "Who'd you pinch it from?"

Gannen scowled, sliding the sword back and leaning it against the wall. "For your information I worked for it."

"Bloody hard I should imagine!" Exclaimed Vancha, clapping Gannen on the back. "That thing looks like it could fetch a fair price if you ever needed it!"

"Try it and I'll kill skewer you with it." Replied Gannen pleasantly.

Vancha laughed. "That'll be the day!"

"You won't be laughing at the time." Giggled Gannen, sticking his tongue out in a very childish manner.

"Were there many battles?" asked Vancha. "I'd imagine so if you needed such a weapon."

Gannen's expression fell somewhat, though he tried to cover it up. "Yes." He mumbled, letting his hair fall over his eyes – a trick he'd used since he was about four. "Sometimes. Not all the time. Most of the time we were just stationed outside different towns in case."

Vancha didn't press the subject.

"Rosa was extremely glad to see you." He said, changing the topic.

This worked.

Gannen shot him a very quick grateful smile and then laughed. "I think she broke my ribs!" he said, making a big scene of moaning in pain of imaginary injuries. "I swear I've got bruises coming!"

Things were different in the morning.

Gannen woke with a jolt as Vancha punched him on the shoulder.

"Why didn't you ever contact us?" he demanded.

"What?" asked Gannen incredulously, reciprocating the glare. "How exactly was I meant to do that?"

"You could've sent a messenger!"

"And how easy do you suppose that is?!"

"You could have written!" Vancha persisted.

"Oh that would have done a lot of good!" Sneered Gannen.

"That's not the point!" Shot back Vancha.

"And in any case how was I meant to write with Father one step behind me all the time?" demanded the younger brother. "'What does all your book learning achieve except idleness boy?'" he said bitterly, doing a fairly passable impression of their father's voice.

"I think he would have made an exception if it was to send us a confirmation that you were at least alive!" Vancha nearly shouted.

"But it would have been pointless!" cried Gannen indignantly.

"Just receiving it would have been enough!"

"We're back aren't we?!"

"I still can't believe that it never crossed your mind Gannen!" Vancha roared. "Do you have any idea how worried we were? For **two years**!"

"Well maybe if you'd voiced this before we left-" began his brother.

"And would that have stopped you?!"

"It might have!"

"Like I'm going to believe that!"

"Do you think it was all fun and games for us?!" shouted Gannen, raising his voice for the first time. "Do you think you're the only one who worried?! We missed you all the time!"

"Not enough to come home." said Vancha bitterly.

"We couldn't just abandon our post!" gasped Gannen.

"So fighting a loosing battle is more important then your family?"

"Shut up!" Yelled Gannen, and punched him hard on the jaw.

Vancha hit him straight back, and then they were fighting – really fighting.

Two years ago when they fought, Vancha's greater height and weight had always won over, but Gannen wasn't a child anymore, and he fought like a wildcat.

They thrashed around until they fell onto the flagstones, kicking and hitting at each other, each trying to cause as much pain to the other as he could.

"Vancha! Gannen! Stop it!" Shrieked Lizzie; appearing in the doorway, her hair still hanging loose around her shoulders.

They both ignored her, Vancha landing a punch on Gannen's shoulder and getting a sharp kick in the shin in return.

"ENOUGH!"

They stopped, both staring sheepishly up at Nathaniel Harst, still entangled with each other.

"I will not have fighting in my own house." He continued. "Just because you're older does not mean you can ignore my wishes. You."

Gannen scowled, although Vancha was sure that comment had been meant to for him.

Satisfied, their parents left the room.

The two brothers disentangled themselves and got dressed in moody silence, not meeting each others eyes.

Breakfast was awkward, and Lizzie suddenly threw down her spoon, making everyone jump.

"Oh for goodness' sake what's wrong with you two?"

"Mother-"

"Don't Mother me!" Lizzie frowned at Gannen. "What is going on? Anyone would think you weren't the same pair as were so pleased to see each other yesterday!"

There was a few seconds of silence, and then Vancha began to laugh. A few moments later, Gannen's face spilt into a grin and he started laughing too.

Lizzie exchanged looks with her husband, who smiled and shrugged. She sighed in exasperation, although she smiled, and began clearing the plates away.

"Go on get! The pair of you!"

They got, wandering out to garden still laughing.

"We're stupid aren't we?" Said Gannen eventually, wiping tears of mirth of his face.

"Speak for yourself!" Replied Vancha, gasping for breath. "Having to answer to him after two years of being in charge?? That's a shock!"

"Sounds like luxury." said Gannen. "Being under strict orders for that long? I'm glad to get away from it!"

"Next time we'll reverse it."

"Good luck!"

"And you!"

They fell about laughing again, although neither knew exactly why.

After a time, Gannen stopped laughing and turned to Vancha.

"I'm sorry I didn't write." He said quietly. "Even if it was just a scribbled note… Was it that bad?"

Vancha shrugged, sitting down under a tree and leaning against the trunk. "Worse for mother. She wouldn't eat for a time, and she was always staring out of the window. She kept running outside if horses went past, drifting around the house like a ghost."

Gannen bit his lip, sitting down beside his brother. "Sorry."

"I can see why you didn't write. I know how much you hate being on the end of father's scorn." Said Vancha gently.

Gannen shook his head. "I should have, disapproval be damned."

"Well it doesn't matter now, you're back."

"It wasn't only bad for you though I promise." Said Gannen. "I missed you both a lot. And almost every day we'd hear of some town being captured by the other side. We were constantly afraid it would be here." He shuddered. "The other soldiers gave the most horrible descriptions of it Vancha."

Vancha laid a hand on his brother's arm.

"I can't even remember the name of the town, but some of the things they... Death sometimes seemed merciful." Whispered Gannen, covering his eyes with his hand. "And the worst of it was that it worked the other way around too."

"It's over now. Don't think about it." Said Vancha, slightly disturbed. "I'm sorry I said what I said, I never considered that you might be as miserable as we were."

Gannen barked a laugh. "So much for great adventures!"

"Don't talk like that. You're back now, it's over."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

They smiled sheepishly at each other.


	2. Something More

Chapter Two

Another year passed, with little or no excitement to be remarked upon.

Autumn saw a hope for Rosa and Gannen; Winter passed all too slowly; Spring came and went quickly for Vancha now that he wasn't left with all the work to do; and very soon it was Summer again.

The long, heavy days settled noticeably over the sleepy valley. The heat made every movement slow to a crawling pace, and the atmosphere was lazy and tired. The roads were dry and dusty, and the air was dry and hot.

Perfect conditions for boredom to settle and grow.

"I've had enough!" cried Gannen, flinging down his brush and startling the horse so badly that it jumped away from him. "Do we ever get a break from doing chores? Always work work and more work! And the same tasks every time!"

"I agree." Said Vancha, setting down his own brush.

"Good! Then you won't object when I say never mind this, let's go do something else!"

And with that he flounced out of the stable.

Vancha chuckled, put away the brushes – including the one Gannen had flung on the floor, latched the door shut and followed his brother outside.

Gannen was sprawled underneath a tree in the shade, and Vancha flopped down beside him.

"Don't you ever get bored of it Vancha?" asked Gannen with his eyes shut.

"Bored of what?"

"Of this! Of this town, of this farm, of these chores! Nothing ever changes - every day is exactly the same as the last! Nothing exciting ever happens!"

Vancha shrugged. "No."

"How can you not?" exclaimed Gannen, sitting up, exasperated. "You're happy with doing this everyday of your life until you die?"

"I didn't say that."

"But that's all that we're gonna get living here! We're gonna stay here, mother wants us to get married, and then stay stuck on this stupid farm, have children yadda yadda yadda!" He ranted.

Vancha was very aware of the direction this conversation – if you would call it that – was going in.

"It's not as bad as you're making it sound Gannen." He chastised his brother.

"Yes it is! It's so boring! When there's so much else to do and see and places to go! There's more to life than the same old boring routine every day!"

"Well you've changed your tune." Noted Vancha, greatly amused. "Again."

Gannen scowled. "You know what my opinion's always been!"

"It changes pretty much daily."

"Oh shut up!" snapped Gannen crossly. "But there's just so much more out there…" he moaned.

"Stop mooning after things you can't have." Said Vancha irritably, with a strong sense of déja vu echoing from about three years back.

He wished Gannen had never gone with Nathaniel and seen more of the world, because whereas he had moaned before, now that he'd had a taste of another life he was even worse!

"You ALWAYS say that! Don't you EVER think about what life would be like outside this valley?" Cried his brother.

"Gannen do we have to go through this again?" moaned Vancha, putting his hands over his ears.

Gannen huffed and stared sulkily out over the valley.

"Besides, what would Mother think if you voiced this to her?" teased Vancha.

Instead of cringing like he normally did, Gannen said harshly:

"I wish she would have another baby and then she'd stop mother-henning us all the time like we're five!"

"Gannen!" Snapped Vancha sharply.

"You think it too!"

"That may be true but it doesn't give you license to be so insensitive!"

"What's insensitive? It's true! She's always wanted a girl child to fuss over! So then she'd have what she wanted, and she'd leave us alone like we want!"

"Like **you** want. And you only want her to stop paying attention to you so you can leave again and not feel guilty that she's missing you!"

Gannen went red.

Vancha gave a satisfied snort and laid his head back in his hands, looking up into the leaves of the tree.

After a while, Gannen got up and wandered into the house, leaving Vancha alone.

The 21-year-old closed his eyes listening to the whispering of the leaves of the enormous tree he was lying under; the whispering of the spirits of the dead. He was certain that he could pick out different voices amongst the chorus of rustling – but that could have been the heat making him drowsy.

A sudden _SHHK!_ noise startled him; his eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright.

Gannen had come back, and he'd brought his sword with him; the sound Vancha had heard had been him pulling the blade out of its embroidered sheath. He was weighing the weapon in his hand, rolling it backwards over his knuckles, throwing it from hand to hand, getting used to the feel again seeing as he hadn't touched the thing for months.

Vancha watched him for a long time as he swung the blade around, going through a number of different motions, both slow and fast, duelling with an imaginary partner. His speed was impressive and his balance was excellent, a good combination for a swordsman.

"You don't have to just watch you know." He said after a long while.

Vancha gave a bark of laughter. "You'll have to search elsewhere for a sparring partner Gannen – I value the fact I have all my limbs!"

Gannen grinned mockingly. "Scared?" He teased.

"Profusely!"

This made Gannen laugh with delight.

Vancha picked up one of the acorns which scattered the ground, shut one eye and threw it at him. It hit him right between the eyes.

"Ouch!"

"Serves you right." Vancha mumbled good-naturedly, lying back against the tree trunk again, resting his hands behind his head. "Respect your elders."

Gannen picked up the offending acorn and threw it back at Vancha in response. It sailed at least a foot wide of its target.

Vancha eyed it contemptuously as it flew past him.

"You're a crap shot." He felt the need to point out.

"Yea, the ability to throw stones'll come in handy next time you run into a giant." Gannen said sarcastically.

"It might."

"And the moon's made of cheese."

"Watch it." Replied Vancha.

"Watch what?" answered Gannen innocently.

"And don't get smart with me either."

"You sound like Mother." He grumbled, resuming his sword practice.


	3. Witchcraft?

"What??"

"That's what I said." Confirmed Gannen. "And it's not just the dogs; all the animals are acting strange."

Vancha frowned. "Odd."

"And they were fine as soon as we got half way back." Gannen continued, "Just refused to cross the bridge. I could've stood on the other side whistling and shouting all day but they wouldn't go any further into town."

"Have they cleared up the rat problem yet?"

"Hardly! If it gets any worse they're gonna need the freaking Piper of Hamlin down there! I told you, not a cat in sight."

"And all the other animals you mentioned?" asked Vancha.

Gannen shrugged. "Just really skittish, and I already said about the dogs. And as soon as a whole load of rats decide to come causing problems, every cat in town disappears!"

"But there's nothing odd going on with our animals." Pointed out Vancha, feeling thoroughly bewildered.

"You think I didn't notice that?" Gannen snorted. "It's worse around Miss Kathy's side of town, and we're not having any trouble up here."

Vancha shrugged, totally at a loss.

"Mrs Threadgood is blaming Miss Kathy's brother."

Vancha gave his brother a sceptical look. "Why?"

It was Gannen's turn to shrug. "Search me. He only arrived a few days ago, probably because he's cross eyed or something. You know she's crazy."

"Stark raving mad, I know."

"She'll start blaming the gypsies next; a few of them arrived today ahead of the others." Continued Gannen. "She's rattling on about witches too. I saw her today, prowling around the square, waving her stick at every girl she saw and shouting about dark arts and devil's servants and all the rest of it. Rose came and hid behind me, and then she hobbled over and began telling me-" Here he put on a high, scratchy voice. "-animal familiars are all very well, but spells can be cast on ordinary people too! Protecting an evil mistress will bring you no salvation Master Harst!"

Vancha burst out laughing at the mental image; that seemed to be the old lady's favourite occupation! Most of her time was spent spying on her neighbours, or traipsing around the square shouting at everyone, or talking to trees.

"If she had her way there'd be no one left in the town at all." He pointed out eventually. "Everyone she knows is a devil or a witch or a vampire or a werewolf or something in her eyes."

"Yea and then she'd accuse herself just for want of something better to do." Replied Gannen, giggling wickedly.

Vancha chucked. "Shall we stop having a laugh at the old lady's expense and get on with something worthwhile?"

They looked at each other, and then Gannen burst out laughing.

"Oh stop it." Grinned Vancha, giving his brother a gentle shove as he walked past, then added: "'It will bring you no salvation Master Harst!'"

"She thinks Alice, Cara and Rose are a coven of weird sisters and that me and Michael are under an evil spell." Gannen giggled. "Catching frogs for them at midnight and all that."

"Who's catching frogs?" Inquired Lizzie, coming in and hanging her cloak on the hook by the door.

Gannen was giggling too much to answer.

"Mrs Threadgood." Supplied Vancha, knowing he shouldn't ought to be grinning. "She's accusing Alice and Rosa of casting spells on Gannen and Michael."

Lizzie's mouth twitched upwards. "It's not funny boys," she admonished. "Mrs Threadgood is a very sick old lady, and there's nothing funny about it."

Gannen's giggles became howls of laughter, tears trickling down his face as he gasped to breathe.

He dug his elbow into Vancha's ribs and whispered loudly: "I think it's hilarious!"

"Oh hush!" cried Lizzie, smacking him lightly over the head, trying to speak of the old lady with respect although Vancha could see she was finding it as funny as they were.

She turned to empty her egg basket on the table, and as soon as her back was turned Vancha dug his elbow into Gannen's ribs and said in a high pitched whisper: "Do not laugh at the expert observations of your elders Master Harst, for it will bring your evil soul no salvation!"

This did nothing for Gannen's fit of giggles.

"No one is safe while the evil spirits are upon us!" he continued, hobbling about a bit in an impression of Mrs. Threadgood. "Woe upon you all, feckless heathens! The only way to save our souls is to exorcise everyone I think looks suspicious even though I can't tell a man from a tree!"

"Cut it out you prat!" hissed Gannen, in between giggles.

"Quite right Gannen." Said Lizzie, with her amazing talent of hearing whispers. "Vancha stop it."

Vancha smirked and straightened up.

"And it's not a laughing matter." Continued Lizzie, suddenly grave. "If anyone decides to take her accusations seriously then it could be dangerous."

"For who?" Scoffed Gannen.

Lizzie shot him an angry glare. "Quite possibly for your Rosa so don't take accusations of witchcraft lightly."

Gannen scowled. "No one listens to the old crone anyway!"

Lizzie opened her mouth to argue but then shut it again and nodded curtly, leaning over to throw another log on the fire.

But both brothers heard her mutter:

"Except when it suits them."


	4. Orpheus

**(The Vampaneze who blooded Vancha and Gannen is never named or talked about in the Saga so I am pretty much making him up completely)**

"Gannen hurry up!" Vancha shouted back into the house.

"I can't find it!" Came the wail from back inside.

Vancha rolled his eyes and made an exasperated noise.

"Were did you last put it down?" Called Lizzie, with infinite patience.

"I don't know!" Wailed Gannen.

"Think!"

After a few moments there was a frantic scuffle as Gannen came pelting out the door, looking thoroughly dishevelled.

"Found it?"

"Yes! Ok, I'm ready!"

"Finally!" exclaimed Vancha, climbing up into the driver's seat.

Gannen eyed the thing with distaste but said nothing, giving the harnessed horses a quick pat before hopping up behind Vancha and Lizzie, sitting between the bags of grain.

"But what if she doesn't-"

"Gannen shut up!" snapped Vancha, his brother's whining doing nothing to improve his mood.

"Vancha." Chastised Lizzie gently.

Vancha grunted a response and they started down the hill.

He knew exactly why Gannen was so wound up, and he knew exactly what it was he hadn't been able to find, but he still wished he wouldn't keep zipping around the place like a five year old!

He'd hardly helped at all this morning, apart from going down to the road to check for tracks to see if the gypsies had been past or not. After that he'd just been off in daydreams all day, and Vancha had been pretty much left to do all the work packing surplus crops into the cart.

And he was getting away with it! Lizzie hadn't reproached him at all, and had just given Vancha an irritating look that said: 'leave him be' when he'd begun to shout at him.

Rosa-May or no Rosa-May it was ridiculous!

Crowds of people were streaming through the tiny streets when they got down to the village. The gypsies had set up camp in one of the fields and their tents and wagons were so garishly coloured that it almost hurt to look at them. There were tents and booths lining the already narrow streets

There was all manner of trading going on, grain, threads, food, clothing, jewellery, people shouting there wares and small huddles of people gossiping and laughing. It was difficult not to be caught up in the bustling, festival-like atmosphere.

Women bought cloth and spices, while their husbands examined new tools or latches that were displayed all along the main street. There were children running up and down with excited shouts, and almost everyone in the town was inspecting the gypsies' wares.

Gannen took off the moment they got across the bridge, heading suspiciously in the direction of the Robinson household.

Vancha and Lizzie elbowed through the crowd, and spent the morning trying to sell the surplus crops they had brought down with them.

Somewhere near noon Lizzie slipped off to see some of her friends and Vancha was left alone. He wandered from one booth to another, examining the goods mostly out of curiosity, but he was getting bored.

As he rounded a corner, he saw his brother standing a small way off in between two tents, and he wasn't by himself.

Vancha raised an eyebrow and smirked to himself before turning around and sitting down on someone's porch a few yards away to wait, watching the sun sink.

It was getting annoying. Why didn't Gannen just marry the girl already? Vancha didn't want to admit that he knew the answer to that.

Finally, Gannen appeared around the corner, hands in his pockets and looking pleased with himself.

"Having fun?" Said Vancha, making him jump.

Gannen scowled but said nothing as they made their way back into the town centre.

Some of the traders were acting out stories in the square for the children, but lots of adults had gathered to watch as well and before long the two brothers were watching as well.

An exceptionally beautiful gypsy woman with long fair hair was singing a song about a princess who had been kidnapped to the fairy realm as a baby. Her voice was pure and clear, and the sound was so sweet that it seemed to spellbind the listeners. As the night wore on and the children went home to bed, the stories became less childish and less fairytale-like.

Caught up in the singing and storytelling, Vancha didn't notice for a while that nearly all the villagers were gathered in the square.

There was lots of applause when the performers finally bowed and left the square. They had been good stories, very good stories, but they were the same as always and grew old after a time.

People began to disperse, but suddenly a hush fell over the people who had remained and those who had begun to leave turned to see why.

A new comer had stepped into the circle, and was waving his hands for silence.

He wore a heavy cloak and hood which threw dark shadows over his face, and from where Vancha and Gannen were sitting they could see that his skin was dark.

A dog began to bark wildly when the stranger appeared, but was quickly silenced by an irritated master.

"What's he doing?" hissed Gannen.

"I don't know," Mused Vancha. "Maybe he's another storyteller – their group often include strange characters from far countries."

Vancha was right as it turned out, and as soon as the stranger began to speak in a low hushed voice, he tried to hurry Gannen away.

"Gannen come on we've got to go home."

"No we don't." objected Gannen, "You go if you want, I'll walk back later."

Vancha could think of no way short of forcing him to get his brother to come away from the stories of adventure from far away lands, so he stayed, although it was against his better judgement and he knew what was going to happen afterwards.

It grated on Vancha's nerves to see his brother's enraptured expression throughout the tales.

Finally he'd had enough.

"Fine you can walk home. See you later." He said, trying not to let his irritation creep into his voice.

"Bye." Said Gannen vaguely, not taking his eyes off the talking stranger.

Vancha rolled his eyes and stomped out of the freezing square.

Gannen pushed his way through the crowds of departing people, hurrying towards the gypsy camp. He needed to find the new stranger with the hood.

"Excuse me," he asked a woman as she tried to hurry past him. "The new storyteller, do you know where he is?"

"Why?" She shot back immediately, and he was surprised by her hostility.

"I… I just want to talk to him." He said.

She looked him up and down suspiciously before saying finally: "Follow me."

They wound through the tents, people and bonfires until they came to a blue tent that wasn't as bright as the others.

"Orpheus?" Called the small woman through the tent fabric. "Someone to see you."

"Who?" Came the reply, and Gannen was startled by how much one person's voice could change.

"No idea. Shall I get rid of him?" she asked.

There was a pause.

"No, let him in."

The woman pushed aside the tent flap and gestured impatiently for Gannen to go in.

He quickly stepped into the tent. "Thank-" But she was already gone. "-you…"

He looked around. There was a small table, a chair, a small pack and a long wooden box with a sword resting against it. Apart from that the tent was empty was empty, and it was unbearably warm after the cold outside.

"What can I do for you? Mr…?"

Gannen jumped and whipped around to see the same stranger, still dressed in his heavy cloak, still with the hood up covering his face. But Gannen could just about see his eyes.

"Uh, Harst. Gannen Harst." He replied.

"Well then Master Harst, I'll ask again, what can I do for you?"

Gannen felt like he was being x-rayed.

"I, uh, I wanted too, erm, I wanted too ask you about your stories." He said, stumbling over his words.

The stranger – Orpheus - sighed and moved to sit in the chair. "What about them?"

Gannen swallowed. "Have you really been to all those places?"

Orpheus snorted. "I wouldn't have stories to tell about them if I hadn't been there boy."

Gannen's face flushed but he persevered. "Do you still go back there?"

"When it suits my purpose."

"So, you still travel?" asked Gannen cautiously, folding his cloak back over his shoulders to keep the heat at bay.

"I just said did I not? When it suits my purpose." Replied the cloaked figure impatiently, copying Gannen's idea and folding his cloak back.

Gannen noticed that he was wearing gloves. Indoors?

"So, you aren't part of this group?" he asked tentatively.

"This bunch of vagabonds?" He barked a laugh. "Only for as long as circumstances require!"

"Circumstances?" asked Gannen. "You're planning to leave?"

From underneath the heavy hood, he saw the light reflect off the man's eyes.

"If you ask what you would really like to ask then maybe we can save some time." He said levelly.

Gannen bit his tongue for a few moments, torn between what he wanted and what other people wanted.

"I want to come with you." He suddenly blurted. "I could be useful, I can cook, clean, carry baggage, whatever!"

There was a pause. Gannen held his breath.

"Out of the question."

Anger over-rode verbal competence for several seconds. Finally Gannen managed to sort his tongue out.

"Why not?" he said in dismay, forgetting good manners.

"It isn't at all possible."

"I can be useful I promise!" gabbled Gannen. "I-"

"I said no." Interrupted the other man. "And besides, what would your family say about this hmm?"

Gannen visibly decreased in size. "They... wouldn't like it." He said lamely, eyes dropping to the floor.

"So I'd imagine." Said Orpheus grimly. "And I'm sure they wouldn't thank me for stealing you away from them."

Gannen began to say something but he was once again cut off.

"Also I can see that you aren't sure about this are you? And I have no wish to take on a travelling companion who will spend the entire time pining for home."

He shut his mouth again and said nothing, glaring back at Orpheus with steadfast determination.

"I want to leave." He said, fighting to keep his voice level.

Orpheus was silent for a minute, calmly matching Gannen's angry gaze.

"You really want to leave?" He said.

Gannen's hand curled into fists and replied through gritted teeth.

"Yes. More than anything. I'd **do** anything to get out of here." He said with quiet conviction.

"Anything?" Said Orpheus, with a degree of surprise.

"All I have to look forward to is spending my entire life working fields and looking after animals." Spat Gannen, getting more and more wound up. "Is that how you'd want to spend your entire life?"

"Many people would be happy to have that security." Mused Orpheus. "And you have it, but you don't want it."

Gannen inhaled sharply. "No."

"What would you give up?" He asked, pulling his hood back a fraction to see Gannen better.

The question caught Gannen off guard but he readily answered. "To leave my home and family, what more is there to give up?"

"You'd be surprised." Said Orpheus, so quietly that Gannen nearly missed it, but before he could ask what he meant Orpheus stood up and said:

"Alright, I'll consider it. If you're still in the same mind by the time we return, and I think it a good idea, you can leave with me."

Gannen nearly jumped for joy. "Thank you!"

"Don't thank me just yet." Muttered Orpheus, once again pushing his hood back up where it had slipped.

Gannen couldn't help himself. "Why do you wear your hood up, even inside?"

"A simple skin disorder Master Harst, nothing more. Now if you'd please take your leave, I expect that same family you're willing to abandon are wondering where you are."

He said it cuttingly, deliberately, and it stung, viciously. But Gannen didn't say anything except another 'thank you' before ducking out of the tent and making his way out of the camp.

As he hurried back through the town and over the bridge, he tried hard not to think, but it was like trying to keep water in cupped hands.

What had he just agreed to? What would Lizzie do? Vancha was going to kill him… And what about Rosa-May?

He shook his head to try and get those three people out of his brain but it didn't work, and by the time he got home he was nearly on the point of changing his mind.

Creeping quietly into the bedroom he shared with Vancha, Gannen paused a minute to look at his sleeping brother.

Did he really want to leave?

But as he sat on his own bed, he held his long sword in his hands, running his fingers over the red velvet on the scabbard and listening to Vancha's chainsaw snoring, he stared out the window over the moonlit valley and felt that all too familiar longing to see what was beyond it creep up on him.

His eyes flickered over to the small lights just outside the town which were the gypsy's bonfires. It was impossible to distinguish one tent from another in the moonlight, but he knew that the man camping down there was his only chance to ever see what was beyond his home.


End file.
